


Happy Halloween

by mybelovedcheshire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Candy, Gen, a bunch of children, and some unhappy feels, ghosts and hauntings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time when the doors of the Otherworld open for the souls of the dead. Or -- more commonly -- a chance for people to pig out on candy and watch spooky movies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Halloween

“Where’ve you put the bloody candy?” 

Sally paused, mouth falling open slightly in an expression of irritation. “It’s in a bowl, by the door,” she called out. She heard Greg’s noisy footsteps tromping down the stairs and leaned in towards the mirror again to finish applying her mascara. 

He’d wanted her to be a spooky witch. She batted her dark eyelashes and smiled, admiring the way she’d gotten her weird, pointy hat to sit just right. She’d delivered.

“Is this all of it?” 

She hung her head. 

Trick-or-treating had been entirely Greg’s idea. He’d planned everything -- from their costumes, to the movie they’d watch, to the sad, little decorations outside her front door. She was grateful -- she didn’t feel it at that particular moment, but she was. He’d been in such a rut after the death of Sherlock Holmes. He’d lost his job, and a friend-- no, more like a son, really.

She wouldn’t begrudge Sherlock that.

But as ridiculous as Greg’s enthusiasm for such a silly American holiday was, it was proof that he was finally moving on. he was climbing out of the lowest, darkest period of his life, and if supporting him meant getting dolled up in a funny costumes and telling him: ‘Yes, Greg. Your jack-o-squash is fine. No one’s going to comment on the fact that you were too stingy to buy an actual pumpkin.’

Sally took a deep breath and sashayed out of her bathroom. Sashayed, because she was doing this for her friend and that meant going the distance -- and because honestly, she looked fantastic, and she knew it. 

“No, we’ve got extra. I’ve just hidden it.” 

Greg’s voice -- slightly confused and sad -- floated up the stairs. “Why?”

“Because I know you,” she told him, leaning over the railing. He looked up at her with those big, soppy brown eyes of his. “And I know you’d bloody eat it all before the children show up.” 

That was fair. Greg still pouted -- and stuffed an empty wrapper into his pocket as he adjusted the waistline his shorts. “You look lovely,” he told her, if a bit sullenly. 

Sally smiled. “Still can’t believe you think that qualifies as a costume.” 

As far as she knew, there was nothing in the contract of their friendship that said she couldn’t be blunt and supportive at the same time. 

Greg’s mouth dropped open indignantly. “I’m for Chelsea!” He explained, for the seventh time, holding his arms out to show off his bright blue football kit. “It’s a nightmare!” 

“It’s your nightmare,” Sally answered, walking away. 

Greg snagged another little chocolate bar from the bowl and bounded back up the stairs. “Is everything ready?” 

“Yes, Greg.” 

“You’ve got the front light on.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you have extra candy.” 

Sally snatched the chocolate out of his hands just as he unwrapped it. “Yep,” she replied, as she bit into it. Greg looked like she’d just whacked him on the nose with a newspaper. 

He looked around her flat quickly, as if he was missing something, and wasn’t quite sure what it was. After a moment, he nodded abruptly. “Thanks, by the way. Y’know, for doing all this.” 

Sally -- with the witchiest smirk she could manage -- rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and play the film.” 

He did, but they hardly made it past the opening credits before there was a knock and the door and the sound of half of a dozen children squealing just outside. Greg’s face lit up, and -- as much as Sally was loathe to admit it -- hers did, too. 

She didn’t dislike kids. And she was grateful that her stupid, dimwitted, annoying, tosser of a best mate was back to being himself. 

Greg hurried down the stairs and yanked the door open. The kids all shouted -- the two parents in the back looked vaguely embarrassed, but then, that was the lot of parents and chaperones on Halloween. Greg grinned from ear to ear and doled out candy -- a handful for each munchkin, and a bit extra for the little ghost who shouted “Boo!” when Greg got to her. 

He pretended to jump. “By-- where the blazes did you come from?” 

The little girl under the sheet beamed and cradled her bag of candy to her chest.

Sally had to run back up the stairs twice within the hour to toss the extra bags of candy over the railing to Greg. Once, she ripped a bag open and dumped it on his head while the kids were watching, resulting in a bit of a melee around his ankles for all the good chocolate. But he was thrilled, and so were the very satisfied children. Frankenstein’s monster might have a lump on his head for the rest of the night, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to notice. 

They ended up camping out at the foot of the stairs with the door wide open for most of the evening. Sally lived on a wide, busy street -- as soon as one family left, another set of mewling monsters took their place. They met vampires and zombies and werewolves, ghosts and ghouls and goblins, and even a monkey. Someone came as an astronaut, and insisted that Sally put the candy inside his helmet, which he then very skillfully wiggled back onto his head. Only one dad had the audacity to give Greg an ‘Are you serious?’ glance, but Sally skillfully interceded before the conversation could get out of hand.

“Thank you!” she said, putting herself between Greg and the door. “Thank you, children. All very scary costumes.” The dad in question snorted, quietly as she shut the door in his face. 

“I’m not a bloody Chelsea fan!” Greg shouted, 

Sally pursed her lips. “Good thing we’re almost out of candy.” 

“All of it?” She nodded. 

“Unless, of course, you want to give up what you’re hoarding,” she told him.

“I will not! That’s mine! I fought a bloody knight for that. He bit me!” 

“You growled at him!” 

“The witch started it.” 

“She was three.” 

“You’re just jealous because she was cuter than you,” Greg retorted with a grin. 

Sally gasped and punched him in the arm -- but there was a knock at the door just as Greg grabbed the almost empty bowl of candy to retaliate. She pushed him out of the way and pulled it open. 

Four little tots stood lined up in front of them, all rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed as they shouted “Trick or Treat!” Sally smiled and greeted them as Greg thrust the bowl into the gap between her and the door. 

“Oh, a princess! Haven’t seen many of those!” She told the first little girl. “Here you go!” Greg pushed the bowl into her hands and chuckled. “And another ghost! I’m so sorry, this is literally the last of our candy,” she explained to the parents as she handed the last bit of chocolate to the third child in the line. He thanked her by hissing through his vampire fangs. “We had no idea this street would be so popular.” 

The fourth one didn’t seem to mind. He was casually pilfering candy by the handful from his brother when the ghost wasn’t looking. 

“And what are you?” Sally asked him with a smile. “It’s a very nice coat, all long and dark. Is that part of the costume?” 

“He keeps losing his hat,” the mother explained, in a tone that said she didn’t quite approve. “It’s in your bucket, Tommy.” 

Sally and Greg exchanged looks -- Sally’s mostly threatening, and Greg’s still utterly unconcerned. 

When they looked back, the little boy had pulled on a deerstalker. “I’m Sherlock Holmes!” He told them very pompously. 

“That fellow from the papers,” the father explained, misreading their pale expressions as confusion. 

“But I don’t believe any of it,” the boy piped up. “Mum says it’s rubbish.” The mother covered her face. “She says newspapers’ll print anything just to get you to read ‘em.” 

“You... liked Sherlock Holmes then?” Sally asked, recovering faster than Greg, who was whiter than the little ghost. 

“Yeah! I read all his stories,” the boy answered enthusiastically. “Solvin’ murders and savin’ people. He was cool.” 

Greg dug his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his stash of candy -- more than a handful of chocolate -- and dumped all of it into the little boy’s bucket. Tommy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“Woah, thank you!” 

Greg retreated quickly, taking the stairs two at a time. Sally cleared her throat and saw them off, turning off the front light as she shut the door. They were out of candy; they couldn’t entertain any more trick-or-treaters. But she didn’t follow him up the stairs. She leaned back against the wall and pulled off her hat. 

She didn’t believe in ghosts. She absolutely didn’t.

But she knew Sherlock Holmes was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.


End file.
